The Man and the Mortician
by Lioness222
Summary: When Martin Crieff is working at his other job as a man with a van, he's called to pick up some furniture for a very pretty young mortician.


The Man and the Mortician

**Fully Summary:** When Martin Crieff is working at his other job as a man with a van, he's called to pick up some furniture for a very pretty young mortician.

**Rating:** Honestly, I have no clue what's gonna happen here, so I'm gonna leave it at K for now but I might hike it because I find writing smut to be absolutely hilarious (but I'm not making any promises).

**Pairing:** Martin Crieff and Molly Hooper

**Author's note:** This was just a 2 am idea that got out of hand. Will probably just be fluffy and cute. Will not have a real plot unless my imagination gets away from me. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I own neither Cabin Pressure, nor Sherlock.

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><p>As the van pulled up to the curb and he parked it, Martin sighed a little bit, just as he always did when he reached his destinations. This wasn't his favorite job, but of course, the other one didn't even pay him a salary, so this one had to be done.<p>

He picked up the slip of paper with the address and name of his client on it and left the truck, heading for the door with the number that matched the one on the slip. It was a nice little door at the end of a nice little walkway, and he had to admit that the tiny garden that lined the house on either side of the door was very pleasant to look at. Probably some old woman with too much time on her hands so she spent it all in the garden.

Ignoring this, Martin rang the doorbell. After all, a job was a job. And this one had a few trips involved-it wasn't a huge van, so he'd have to make at least two or three runs back and forth. Sure it would be a mess for the petrol, but the hourly rate would make it worth it.

He checked his slip and the number on the door again, even though it would really be too late to run if it was wrong, given that he'd already rung the bell, though an old woman who spends her time in the garden wouldn't answer the door quickly, he didn't have to worry about it because it was the right number, unless he'd written it down wrong, which would-

The door swung open and a young woman stood inside, answering the bell with a shy, "Hello?"

Martin couldn't help it; his jaw slackened the slightest and he stated at her, his eyes glued to her small, somewhat nervous smile. He didn't even notice as her smile grew a bit more nervous as he took in the rest of her: pretty brown eyes, a cute nose, nice teeth and a nice smile, gorgeous brown hair pulled into a side ponytail, and her soft looking hands resting on the door as she held it open.

He didn't notice the shock in her own eyes, so distracted he was when his gaze was pulled back to her smile.

"May I help you?" she asked, startling him out of his shock.

"Yes, sorry!" he said, nearly dropping the slip of paper he held. "I'm Capt-I'm Martin Crieff, the man with the van. Are you," he checked the paper, "Molly Hooper?"

Her smile relaxed just a little and she nodded. "Yes," she said. "I'm sorry, you're just a bit early. I thought you were a stranger. Not that you aren't."

"It's okay, I thought you were an old woman," Martin replied before he could stop himself. His eyes widened and he added, "It's the garden, I just figured it's nice so an old woman must live here to tend to it."

Molly's smile slid a little as she shook her head. "I'm not that old," she said, and he hated the unsure way she said it. Had he made her feel bad?

"No!" he said quickly. "You're not! I mean, you look very young. Not too young I mean. But not too old. A good age. A lovely age. You look lovely. Sorry. Should I just get the dolly?"

Molly nodded and he noticed a small blush forming on her cheeks. "The things I need moved are in the front room," she said, pointing inside the house. "I'll leave the door open for you."

Martin stumbled on his way back to the van but a glance over his shoulder showed him she'd gone inside. He was oddly grateful for that.

Grabbing the dolly and returning to the house, he wheeled the dolly across the rug in the front room where Molly stood, surrounded by large furniture items. She had a dresser, a hutch, a nightstand, and a rocking chair, all antique, all expertly made, but again he found himself staring.

She was just... Sparkly.

"Well, these are the things," she said, gesturing to the antiques. "I'm having them delivered to my brother's. His wife saw them and I didn't mind giving them over, so off they're going."

Martin nodded dumbly and was about to speak when a enormous crash sounded from upstairs, followed by an angry cry. He saw Molly wince.

"Sorry," she said. "It's just my house mate. He's... Interesting."

"He is?" Martin said. "Boyfriend has a few quirks?"

"Oh no!" she said, another blush creeping into her cheeks. "He-he um, well he isn't my boyfriend. He's just a friend who needed a place to stay for a while."

"Oh, okay," Martin said, wishing he had just not said anything about boyfriends. She honestly looked embarrassed now, and he felt rather bad. "Okay, well, moving stuff. Is there anything you'd like me to take first?"

"She's keen to get the rocker," Molly said.

"Right-o!" Martin set to work, leaving the dolly and maneuvering the rocker out the door, silently wishing he hadn't said 'right-o.'

He got the rocker in okay and followed it with the nightstand and dresser, which he easily fit into the van. Molly watched his real life version of Tetris from a few yards away with a small, curious smile, and he caught himself glancing at her out of the corners of his eyes occasionally.

'Why are you bumbling so much? Honestly, she's just a woman and you really can stop saying stupid things to embarrass yourself and her. Really, you're being stupid. Why are you acting like this? It's not as if you like her or anything because-'

He cut himself off as he realized that was precisely why he was bumbling. She was too pretty and he was developing a crush, and it certainly didn't help when she'd smile.

"All packed for this round," he said. "It'll probably take about an hour and a half to get there and back."

"All right," Molly said. "Thank you Mr. Crieff."

"Martin," he said. "You can call me Martin." He tried out a smile and was delighted to see her smile grow a little.

"Okay, Martin," she said. "I'll see you in a bit then?"

"Yes, indeed," he replied, trying not to drop his keys as he locked the back doors of the van. She needed to stop smiling if she wanted anything done.

"Bye," she said with a twiddle of her fingers, and she was darting back into the house.

He called a good bye after her and headed to the driver's side door. Plopping into the front seat, he had to stop himself from grinning and from whacking his head on the steering wheel in frustration.

"Stupid, Martin, you're really, really stupid," he muttered, starting the van and throwing it into drive. He pulled out and began his journey, trying to get that pretty smile out of his head.

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><p>"Sherlock!" Molly called upstairs. "What are you doing up there?"<p>

He didn't answer-she hadn't expected him to-and she made her way upstairs, headed for the room she'd let him use.

She found the room a mess, with the remains of a broken bed scattered here and there, his mattress in the corner. The headboard was in three large chunks and hundreds of smaller pieces, and the frame lay twisted and mangled in the center of the room.

"What did you do?" she demanded of the man.

His back turned to her as he lay on the mattress, she saw a faint shrug of his shoulders and he grunted.

"You're getting me a new bed frame," she informed him.

He grunted again and she left him where he was.

When she'd offered to help him those weeks ago at St. Bart's, she hadn't realized how difficult of a house mate he would be. Of course, she hadn't realized that when he said he'd needed to leave Baker St. that he'd end up in her house, but here he was. And in his time in her spare bedroom, he'd only become a nuisance, growing more and more bored as he spent more time cooped up. Then again, the world thought he was dead, so he couldn't very well go prancing through the suburbs, could he?

She made her way back to her front room, pushing Sherlock out of her mind and replacing him with his doppelgänger. This Martin fellow looked nearly identical to Sherlock, just with a bit more meat on him and with much brighter hair. Plus he was a polar opposite in terms of personality, and even knowledge that it was only her first impression that told her that didn't sway her from that determination. Martin seemed sweet and kind, and rather nervous if she thought about it.

One thing was certain: as shocked as she had been that a man who looked almost exactly like Sherlock had shown up on her doorstep, she was a bit delighted that he had.


End file.
